Waking Up
by scuba.diving.in.space
Summary: Lucy grows up in a world where her Grace rules her life. She learns from a young boy that his Grace took away his ability to make choices. We are the choices we make, but can she shape her own life? Or has her Grace taken away that choice, too...
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

It wasn't a wet day; in terms of winter it was quite warm. The sun was shining, not much cloud, but there was sharp chilliness to the air.

You can imagine the matron's surprise when Elinor came in the night before. The matron, known as Charlotte to her companions, was a sensible woman, old and fair. Sensible grey eyes and sensible black hair, pulled into a sensible bun crowning her head. She kindly sheltered the women and children who had nowhere else to go, those who were hit heaviest by the other kingdom's invasions. The village was safely tucked away in the middle of the Middluns, but the matron housed refugees from all kingdoms. She also was an active supporter of the council.

Many of the villagers often came calling on her; some stopped to give her eggs and bread. Her reputation was well established in the village.

A winter afternoon, rapidly a winter night, as the sun was leaving the sky, the matron could be found out the front of her large house, sweeping up the leaves winter left on her frontcourt. _Soon there will be snow to deal with_, she sighed. Her breath painted the air silver–white. Inside her house, she could her the women preparing their sup. A babe was crying somewhere.

It was then a dishevelled young woman walked carefully through her front gate, and squinted at the matron, before she scurried towards her. Her name was Elinor, the matron would come to learn. But at that moment she only saw a woman, in her early twenties, if that. Her ratty skirts and muddied bodice were clinging together by only a few tentative threads. Her hair could be described as hanging in ropes; it came to her hips, tangled and unkempt. Elinor's hair was a white-blond, her eyes dark blue and deep-set. She looked gaunt and pale. Her high cheekbones and strong nose gave her the appearance of aloofness and high class, if it weren't for the clothes she wore, the fact she was covered head-to-toe in muck and grime, and was heavily pregnant. Elinor, the matron noticed, was shaking, and softly crying. The matron felt a rush of sympathy for this poor woman, but chose to keep her face blank. "Are you the woman who takes us in?" Elinor asked. She spoke in a soft, gentle voice that the matron likened to that of a beaten and whimpering animal.

The matron knew very well who "us" were. "Yes, love. Would you like a bath, and some food? You're lucky you came in when you did– before winter has truly started. Many women flock in then; and we have nothing to give them. I believe I have a room spare– if you'll let me help you."

Elinor let out a soft gasp; such kindness was unknown to her. "The rumours are true, then," Elinor said.

"What rumours?" The matron said in clipped tones.

"That you are an angel," Elinor stated. She soon added a "please help me" when she realised she'd not accepted the matron, and "thank you" when the matron ushered her inside.

The matron had seen too many girls like Elinor. _This one will be hard work to get clean_, she thought, whilst steering the girl to into her new home. The matron's only regret was that she didn't have enough to provide for them all, and that she wasn't graced with the ability of untangling the knotted hair of a pregnant young woman.

The rake she left lying on her front court, leaves and other debris suck in its teeth.


	2. Chapter 2

Sorry, last time I left out this: **Disclaimer: The OCs and plot belong to me... but everything else belongs to Kristin Cashore :)**

* * *

Chapter Two

The days quickly passed for Elinor. The matron watched, satisfied, as the girl shed her shell of grime and shame. Elinor regained her confidence, and with that, came a healthy glow to her cream skin. Her hair was now in soft locks running down her back, and her eyes had regained their luster. No one could guess who she was, or where she'd been, the things that had happened to her. She wore white or teacup blue; the dresses were borrowed from the mayor's wife, who'd recently had her second child. Elinor was due for her first.

Her labour was short, and before Elinor knew it was over, she held a babe in her arms. She had never held one so young before. Her arms trembled, her knees shook. She wanted to run away from this thing; curl up somewhere safe and never have to look at it again. A babe… how could she provide for a babe when she couldn't even look after herself? It happened too fast. She felt dizzy...

Its eyes were dark blue, like hers. Elinor suddenly was swept up in a torrent of emotion; she felt savagely protective for this babe who had brought her such pain, a humble love for it because she knew it would bring her happiness, a little bit disgusted at the way it was conceived, and ashamed that she wouldn't be able to provide for it better. Elinor's cheeks burnt with the shame of it all. That's what her father told her, her emotions were shameful. The mewling merely grumbled in her trembling arms. It didn't cry. Instead, the more Elinor looked at it the more she was disturbed by its quiet, reproachful gaze. It was as if the babe was analysing Elinor. But the matron swept it out of Elinor's arms before she thought any more about it.

"It's a girl!" The matron, Charlotte, exclaimed. "What are you going to name her?"

The thought never occurred to Elinor. What should she name her? Bethany, like her mother, or Lucinda, after her sister? Both names she would've gladly given to her daughter. Her mother and sister didn't need them any more. "Lucinda. After my sister."

* * *

Charlotte knew from the start the baby, Lucinda, was different. She had an intelligence and eerie patience to her, as if she were putting up with the matron's attempts to clean and dress her. The babe had two dark blue eyes, like the night sky, like her mother. But still, she had to check.

On the third day after Lucinda's birth the mother deemed the weather warm enough for a stroll about the gardens. "Can I ask you to look after Lucy for a while? I think some fresh air would do me good," Elinor asked.

Although Charlotte had reservations, she believed it was the best thing for Elinor. She took the babe from Elinor's arms, and watched her walk out the door. Lucinda had been fitfully asleep, but as Elinor left, blinked herself awake. The matron put her in the cot by Elinor's bed. She sat on the nearby armchair to go on with her needlework, but soon had to put it down. The babe was making the grumbling sound again. Lucinda made the sound– somewhere between a mumble and a moan (but not a cry, she never cried)– she always did if something wasn't right. Sighing, Charlotte went to the cot, and carried the babe in her arms back to the armchair. The little one was cosy and warm, wrapped up in a bundle of cloth. She glanced down at the babe, and what she saw drew icy fingers down her spine. Charlotte realised that this was the first time she'd held Lucy when Elinor wasn't there. A sickly feeling, fear, stirred in her gut. The babe was frowning at her.

"Where is my mother?" The babe asked. "Where's mamma?"

Charlotte cried out, and almost dropped the baby.

"I want mamma."

Charlotte fled to fetch her mother.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter three

As the days grew colder, Lucinda's vocabulary increased, until she could converse like an adult. There was no doubt the child was graced, but as her eyes weren't settled, Elinor didn't want to give her up. Charlotte felt the same way too, surprisingly attached to the child. The babe was so innocent and sweet, and whenever Charlotte saw her, a warm, secure sensation slowly built in her chest.

Charlotte saw the girl clutch a quill to her chest. The papers were scattered all over the floor, and some were stuck haphazardly all along the walls, along with Elinor's own clumsy writing. Lucy's work looked something like this:

... The rain batters our window like an army hailing against the walls of a castle. Mamma finished her crochet today, it is so lovely. I want to try one myself but my hand is too fat for a needle, but mamma says it will stretch. Fancy that!. I learned a new word today, metamorphosis. It is when a dirty grub becomes a pretty butterfly. I like butterflies. I had a dream with butterflies in it the other day. I wonder why they have wings, when we don't...

"Mamma, today can we go look at the birds?" Lucy asked. She liked watching them fly about, and preen themselves. They were very pretty, like little lollies in the sky.

"No, Lucy, let's give you something to eat first." Elinor started unbuttoning her dress. Lucinda may be intelligent, but that didn't mean she could get away without a feed.

"But mamma, please… I want to go see them now…"

"No, Lucinda! Let me feed you." Elinor pointed to her exposed breast.  
"Okay, mamma. But after can we see Clover and Thomas?" Clover and Thomas were Lucy's friends, children of 6 and 8 who didn't mind Lucy's peculiarity.

"Yes, sweetie. Now come here."

Another strange thing Charlotte came to notice was whenever she stayed in Elinor's room for the night, she had the most marvellous and wonderful dreams. She never could remember what they where. But how this related to Lucinda's grace, Charlotte had no answer.

Lucy sat in her carrier as she watched Clover and Thomas play hopscotch. It was a game she'd like to try for herself. But she had to sort some things out first. She glanced at her mamma, who was sitting out of earshot, distracted by her needlework. "Clover, can I talk to you?" She asked the small girl quietly.

"What is it Lucy?"

"Clover, what is a graceling?" Lucinda wanted so desperately to know. Her mamma and Charlotte refused to talk to her about it. But she could her them talking about it when she was pretending to sleep sometimes.

It was a question the girl found hard to answer. "Why d'you wanna know, Lucy?"

"My mamma told me about a graceling she saw when she went to get the milk last week. I wondered what the fuss was all about." It was an outright lie, but if Clover bought it, then the end compensated for the means.

"A graceling is a person who has a special ability. They're really good at a particular thing, like signing or dancing, or playing hopscotch."

Lucy thought as much. "So anyone can be a graceling?"

"No, silly. Otherwise I'd beat Thomas everyday!" She glanced meaningfully at her older brother.

"So how can you tell who is and who isn't then?"

Clover grinned. "A graceling has two different coloured _eyes_…" She overdramatically whispered. Clover was only verifying what she had guessed. Charlotte and Elinor's heated conversations? Arguments that suddenly stopped if they found out she was awake?

…Lucy overheard Elinor speaking about her eyes. "Her eyes are the same, look at her eyes," Elinor persisted…

"Really?" Lucinda considered her own eyes. "What colour are mine?"

"Blue," Clover said. "You're not a graceling. You're a baby."

"I once saw a graceling with one eye gold and the other silver!" Thomas called out. "He was in our home kingdom, Monsea."

"Clover, am I normal?"

"I never heard a baby your age talk, Lucy, but you look like a baby."

Lucinda was two months old.


End file.
